Snowbound
by Midnight Caller
Summary: An accident leaves Grissom and Sara in a dire state.


"Snowbound"  
By Midnight Caller  
  
Disclaimer: Please. We all know. But I'll warn you: this was another one of those pieces fueled by the mental energy released while listening to the same two CDs over and over. So if Norah Jones and DJ Loco were to have a baby...hmmm, never mind. Devanie gets props for giving me the story idea, and for not letting me toss the burrito of love into the fire of hate.   
  
Summary: Pffffft, whatever. Something about a crash, an explosion, and a burrito. Oh, and Grissom and Sara.   
  
Rating: Uhh...somewhere between PG-13 & R  
  
Feedback: The perfect drug  
  
Archive: Just tell me where  
  
**  
  
Grissom woke to the groan of twisted metal and the hiss of settling dust. Something was terribly wrong. His entire body ached, but his head throbbed with overwhelming surges of pain. He opened his eyes and thought at first that he was blind, but gradually his eyes adjusted to the darkness as tiny shafts of blue light streamed into his retinas.   
  
Happened... what... happened... where was he? Why was he in pain? He slowly sat up, his back begging him to remain still, and tried to look around. Seats. Some kind of cabin. A train? No... too cramped, and too round. It looked more like a ... oh, Jesus, the plane. All at once the image flashed before his eyes. The lights of the cabin flickering like a strobe, the tiny plane lurching up and down in the pockets of air. Down. They were going down. They were crashing. Definitely crashing. He reached out for someone's hand, squeezed it. And then everything went black.   
  
He woke up again. Must have passed out for real. This time more light flooded into the cabin, and he saw more shapes. Straining his eyes he looked across the aisle. It didn't look like anyone was there. His ears ached for some auditory confirmation that he was not alone, but there was just an eerie silence, as if he could feel the presence of people but they were all asleep. Or dead. That thought shot his head up again to glance around. The cabin was small, maybe ten rows long, and two seats on each side of the aisle. Most of the plane looked empty... yes; he remembered it had been that way when he'd got on earlier.   
  
The image again. Someone's hand. Squeezing. A face. Dark hair. Someone's frightened. Him or the other person? Or both? The other person... other person... his head snapped to the seat beside him, where a form was slumped over the armrest. All at once he remembered, and he panicked.   
  
"Sara!"   
  
Confused and frightened he frantically freed himself from the seatbelt, pushed the armrest out of the way, and pulled Sara's body up to sitting. He suddenly couldn't see... it was blurry... were those tears? He wiped his face, searching her body for a pulse, a breath, a movement, anything.   
  
He was cursing, he knew it, but she couldn't be dead, she couldn't be. She wouldn't have even been there if it weren't because he'd asked her to go. It was his fault. His fault. Oh God, please. Please let her be alive.  
  
His heart almost stopped when her head jerked slightly. Grissom got close to her, their noses almost touching. "Sara?" he whispered. She mumbled a response, and tried to move. Pain instantly shot up through her body, and her eyes sprung open.   
  
There was nothing but fear looking back at him, and he ran his hand through her hair, trying to calm her. He looked down at her leg, and the dark stain of blood on her pants. The material was ripped from the heel almost all the way up her calf, and he suspected the likely gash underneath wasn't anything to take lightly. She had somehow managed to wrap a ripped piece of blanket below her knee at the top of the gash, and that had slowed the blood considerably. He tore his eyes from the sight and looked at her again, just trying to sort everything. Her eyes welled up.  
  
"It's okay." He wasn't sure if he even believed it himself, but they were both alive, somehow. "It's okay." He just repeated it over and over, until she shut her eyes and buried her face in his chest. It was suddenly dark again.  
  
He had that look, the one that was a failed attempt to stop a smile from forming. And as he approached her in the lab he saw her mimicking him. She pursed her lips, trying to stop the grin.   
  
Whatever he'd been carrying in his hand was now on the table, and she glanced down. Plane tickets.   
  
"Are you sending me away somewhere?"   
  
He grinned and sat down next to her, trying to contain his excitement. "Actually, I'm going with you." Now she had that look. The one that really hoped he was serious, but doubted it. He continued, "I've been asked to consult on an entomological case up in Seattle, and I thought..." He paused, trying to think how to phrase it. "I thought that perhaps you'd like to join me, as an assistant."  
  
Floor, meet mouth. "Yes," she blurted out, not even really sure if she understood what she had agreed to do.   
  
"I'll pick you up tomorrow. Ten am."   
  
"Ten am," she repeated, flashing him a smile.  
  
Ten am... ten am... her words and smile echoed in the darkness. And then suddenly the plane was shaking, violently jerking him around in the seat. Sara grabbed his hand and squeezed. He reached up and pushed her head down to the pillow on her knees, doing the same himself. She squeezed even tighter, and he looked over to her. The last thing before blackness was the image of his hands holding hers. Then, nothing.   
  
The trauma had exhausted his body, and he woke again from another round of tortured sleep. Small shafts of sunlight labored to illuminate the cabin, but for the most part it was still dark. When he shifted to lean back in his seat there was an unexplainable weight on his body. But it was warm, soft. He glanced down into a head of dark hair. Sara. He sighed out of relief and tightened his embrace. She snuggled against his chest, her breath warming his neck, and gripped the collar of his shirt with one hand.   
  
He hadn't heard any movement from the rest of the plane at all. How many passengers had there been? Maybe five others? Were they dead? As much as he wanted to just stay still, wrapped against Sara, the others might need help. Besides, the outside air had started to seep into the cabin, and it was getting really cold. Where had they crashed? Cold air... they must be somewhere at a high elevation. The mountains, maybe? Radio. He could call for help. Help. The other passengers. His mind couldn't stop, and he was so fatigued he could barely keep his eyes open. Blanket. Warm. Help. Radio.   
  
He started to move, and Sara grabbed his collar. "Sara, it's okay," he whispered, doing his best to keep his voice steady. "I'll be right back, it's okay." She finally let go and leaned against the back of his seat, falling immediately back to sleep.   
  
The blood struggled to reach his brain, and he nearly passed out as he stood in the aisle. Slowly, he made his way up the cabin from where they were in the back row.   
  
The first one he found was two rows up, flopped into the aisle. Grissom checked for a pulse. Nothing. Same for the next seat over. Methodically, he examined every passenger on his way up to the cockpit, all with the same disheartening results. He and Sara had been lucky, he knew it, but she would be going into shock soon. They had been lucky, but they needed help. Now.   
  
The impact of the crash had broken the windows of the cockpit, and quite a large snowdrift had overtaken the control panel. Snow. They must be in the mountains. Damn. Radio contact would be more difficult. Radio, radio... he searched the cramped area, gently moving the pilot's body out of the way as he sought out their only chance for survival.   
  
He wiped away some ice and turned on the radio. A faint signal reading whined out through the small speaker. But where had they crashed? Log book, log book ... maybe it would have a last known coordinates. The book had been tossed to the floor. Grissom brushed off the snow and thumbed through it, looking for the last entry. He suddenly shivered, and pulled his collar up around his neck.   
  
The pilot could have used a few penmanship classes, but it was readable.   
  
05.15, 13:05 - Boise, ID - all systems normal. Craters of the Moon Nat'l Monument visible off port side, Bitterroot Mountains off starboard  
  
13:15 - slight wavering of starboard flap, should be fixable by arrival  
  
13:20 - Starboard flap problem persists, and landing gear signal light has come on. Plane still flying normally.  
  
13:30 - Have encountered an unforeseen weather pattern, turbulence violent and -- here the writing got a little messy  
  
13:35 - losing altitude. Coordinates apprx.: 45N 117W  
  
13:35 ... 1:35 ... Grissom glanced at his watch. It was nearly four. How far could they have gone before crashing? There was no way to know ... but mountain rescue might be able to help them.   
  
He turned up the volume knob and found a clear frequency. Gripping the mic in his hand he tried to gather his thoughts. "May-day, May-day, this is flight 23 from Vegas to Seattle, Cessna 170, last known coordinates 45 North by 117 west." He released the button and waited. Static.   
  
"May-day, may-day, this is flight 23, we have crashed. Multiple casualties and injuries. Last known coordinates 45 North by 117 west." The click of the button echoed in the quiet cabin, joined quickly thereafter by the sobering hiss of static.   
  
His head fell to his hand, and he closed his eyes, just trying to think straight. Sara. Injury. Headache. Passengers. Cold. Mountains. Blanket. Rescue. Headache. Snow. Mountains. Passengers. Sara. Radio. Help. Cold. Blanket. Sara. Sara... he finally pulled his head up. Get warm, he told himself. Get her warm. Blankets. Heat. Go. Now.  
  
Something else was in the cabin with him. Not alive. It was an odor. Metallic almost. Gas? Oh, Christ. The tank must have ruptured. Where could they go? It was freezing outside.   
  
He gazed into the whiteness outside, and saw the faint hint of horizon. Then they weren't buried, at least. There was something else, too ... something gray? Rocks? That might provide enough shelter for now ... did they have a choice? Either freeze or explode. At least the freezing wasn't an immediate given.   
  
It took all of his strength to pull himself from the pilot's chair, and he stood in the aisle of the plane, trying to figure out what to do next.  
  
He turned around to see the door to the cabin, and hesitated slightly before pulling up the emergency handle. The door creaked and hissed and then flung open, wind and snow quickly taking its place.   
  
Okay. Next step, next step. You can do this. Blankets. Check the overheads. He opened the first one and found several fleece throws. On the other side of the aisle were the defibrillator paddles and a heavy wool blanket.   
  
Behind the paddles was a small plastic box labeled, "Survival Kit." He flipped open the lid. Matches. Several packets of firestarter. Bandages, antiseptic, flares. Flares... those were good. A space blanket, folded into a pocket-sized square. Also good.   
  
He wrapped his arms around everything he could and slowly made his way to the back row, noticing the temperature warm slightly as he reached Sara's sleeping body.   
  
Dumping the pile of blankets on a nearby chair, he got his bag from the overhead compartment. He unzipped the front pouch and withdrew several Powerbars. You never when you'll need a snack, he smiled, and then gulped hard. Or a survival meal. He shook the thought from his head, threw the bars into the survival kit, and gathered the blankets in his arms again.  
  
When he got back to Sara, he took a moment to look at her, and his heart both leapt and fell at once. She ... meant so much to him, but now he might lose her because he'd asked her to go. Lose her. No. No, Gil. Stay focused. She's not dead, she's alive. She's right here. He couldn't help but brush an errant lock of hair from her face, and she stirred slightly, opening her eyes. The panic was gone from her eyes, but confusion and fatigue had set in.   
  
She gazed up at him looking back at her, holding the blankets in his arms, and mustering up all her strength she scooted over toward the window, leaving space for him to sit. Grissom leaned toward her and spread the wool blanket over her body, tucking it around her body like a cocoon. His eyes caught hers for a moment and she smiled at him. How she managed to smile, he didn't know, and he doubted she knew how much strength it gave him.  
  
Once he'd finished tucking the blanket around her, he wrapped one around himself. "Sara. We have to get out of here," he leaned over her, a hand on her shoulder. She moaned into the upholstery. "Come on."   
  
She mumbled again, but saw the urgency in his eyes and leaned forward onto her legs to get up. The pain was blinding, and she yelped out. "Try not to move your leg." He piled the other blankets onto her lap, along with the survival kit. "Just hold onto these, okay?" She nodded and flung an arm over the pile.  
  
He wiggled both hands between the wool blanket and the seat, and kept shifting until he got his arms under her body. The pain shot up his back as he lifted her up, but he bit his lip, silencing the verbal protest. Her free arm wrapped around his neck, and he sidestepped through the cabin to the door.  
  
The cold was painful for the first few minutes, and then he went numb. Sara pressed against him, trying to shield herself from the assaulting whiteness. The snow wasn't that deep, thankfully, but the wind was brutal and his strength drained with each passing step. The cluster of rocks lay just ahead, perhaps twenty feet, and he pressed his feet into the snow, taking another lunge forward.   
  
Every nerve in his body wanted him to stop, to just lie down and rest, but the meaning behind the weight in his arms and the nagging instinct to survive made him move his feet, step by step, until finally, impossibly, he reached the rocky outcrop.  
  
It was bigger than he'd thought; larger boulders forming a small semi-circle on the ground, with smaller rocks piled on top. Within the circle, the wind could only struggle to scream through the small cracks in the rocks. There were even some flat piece of shale that provided a small shelter from the falling snow.   
  
Grissom fell to his knees and carefully laid Sara on the ground. He took a moment to catch his breath and then grabbed the survival kit from Sara's lap. The snow here under the overhang wasn't nearly as deep, maybe four inches. Bracing himself for the cold, he started digging with his hands, throwing snow out of his hole until he reached solid ground. Solid was an understatement, but he wasn't looking for earth - he wanted something else. He reached down and searched the frozen dirt with his hands, until he pulled back several small twigs and one surprisingly thick branch. They were coated with ice but would have to do.   
  
Using the bigger branch he pushed the snow away from an area large enough for a person to lie down, and then he cleared another smaller, rounder area close to the other one. Sara scooted onto the larger clearing, and then watched him, fascinated. Pure adrenaline was fueling him now, mixed with a heavy dose of common sense.   
  
The wood he'd gathered went into the smaller area he cleared, and then he looked around for the kit again. He snapped it open and pulled out the firestarter and matches. He poured the gel over as much of the wood as he could, and then scooted back a few feet as he took out a match. Glancing over at Sara, he caught her eye and gave a slight smile. "I really hope this works..." He threw the match onto the pile, and watched with some twisted form of delight as a veritable bonfire suddenly went ablaze before dying down to a moderate-sized fire. The ice hissed as it melted from the bark.   
  
Suddenly, a powerful shockwave ruptured the air as the smashed remains of the Cessna were blown to pieces. After reeling from the initial blast, Grissom flung his body over Sara's as a huge fireball shot toward the sky and smoke billowed out of the wreckage. The explosion blew pieces of debris everywhere, and thankfully most of it hit the rocks behind them.   
  
One large chunk of cabin landed several feet from their camp, landing with a terrifying thud. Grissom stared at it for a few moments, just grateful they were again still alive, and then realized the wind had died down again, thanks to the piece of cabin. He smiled at the irony, and then looked down at Sara. She seemed paler than before, but there was a slight smirk on her lips as she realized why he was smiling. The stare between them lasted a few moments longer, and then she suddenly shivered.   
  
Grissom pulled himself off of her to tend to her leg. She winced as he moved it to examine the cut, but she tried to keep still. Her homemade bandage had worked for a time, but the cloth was soaked with blood and now melted snow, so he took a large bandage from the kit and pushed up the leg of her pants. The material caught her wound and she couldn't help but cry out. He grabbed her hand, and she held on tightly. "I'm sorry," he gently told her, and she shook her head.   
  
"You have to," she quietly said, and then finally let go of his hand.   
  
She gasped again when he poured antiseptic over the wound, and her head fell back as the pain surged up through her leg. Some kind of guttural roar emerged from her throat, and she reached out, once again finding his hand. "Just breathe," he told her, "I know it hurts." He tried not to notice the death grip she had on him. Besides, her hands were warmer than his frozen ones, and he welcomed the heat.   
  
After a minute, she let go of him again, and tried to breathe the pain out of her body. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she clutched at the wool around her body.   
  
Another swell of pain hit as he slowly began to wrap the bandage around her leg. She knew he was being as gentle as he could but the ache in her leg was throbbing with every heartbeat.   
  
The pain soon became so intense that she nearly transcended it, and she was able to prop herself up on her hands to watch Grissom at work. He had almost finished, nearing the top of her calf, and she watched as he secured the bandage and checked that it wouldn't come undone. He glanced up at her. "How is that?"   
  
She nodded. "Better."   
  
The kit popped open again and Grissom handed her two Ibuprofens. "It might help," he shrugged, and she took the pills from him, tossing them down her throat.   
  
Grissom poked at the fire, which was doing better than he'd expected, and then realized that he wasn't cold anymore. He pushed a finger under his shirt and felt frozen skin.   
  
The space blanket came out of the kit next, and he unfolded it to its full shape, akin to a large sleeping bag. That should be the outer layer. Sara was still wrapped in her wool blanket, and Grissom wrapped another fleece around her, before doing the same to himself. That was the last of the blankets.   
  
He stared over at her, and then cocked his head, thinking.   
  
"Sara," he leaned over her, tugging at the double layer of warmth. "Sara, I need to take this for a second, I know it's cold." She moaned but obliged, sitting up as he unwrapped her cocoon. The cold hit harder than she thought it would, and she shivered violently.   
  
Grissom worked as quickly as he could, lining the inside of the space bag with all the blankets, like a large, warm burrito. When he was done he scooted down to Sara's feet and held the bag open as wide as he could.   
  
"You're going to have to help me out here." She nodded in understanding, and slowly slipped her feet into the bag. She hissed through her teeth as her leg brushed the side, but kept wiggling until she was entirely inside. Grissom's layering trick was much warmer, she thought, and she involuntarily closed her eyes.   
  
She heard him scooting around and rustling the blanket, and then felt a tug at the top, accompanied by a surge of cold air. Glancing up, she saw him carefully slip into the bag next to her.   
  
When he had entered the bag fully it wasn't wide enough for both of them to lie down next to each other. Without a word, Sara repositioned, and gently lowered herself onto his body. He helped guide her with his hands until she found a balancing point, and then welcomed the warmth as she laid her head on the top of his chest. He encircled his arms around her and absently stroked her back.   
  
He could feel his body thawing where it laid against hers, and let his head fall back onto the top end of the bag. All of a sudden he felt ice on the sides of his abdomen, and his head shot up.   
  
Oh -- her hands. She had slipped them under his shirt to warm against his skin, and he relaxed again, pulling the top of the space bag/blanket concoction up to cover the back of her neck.   
  
He tried to purge the cold from his fingers by flexing them, but it wasn't working like he'd hoped. After weighing the choices for a brief moment, he followed her lead and reached up the bottom of her shirt. She gasped and shuddered at the touch, but then settled against him again and allowed the gesture to continue. Her body was surprisingly warm, and he moved his hands up and down her back, simultaneously heating both of their bodies.   
  
They stayed wrapped against each other as he watched the cloudy remains of the sun disappear below the horizon. Well, at least he knew which way was West, if they did need to attempt a walkout. And the wind had died down considerably, which took the pain out of the air hitting his skin. Just as he was running his attempted distress call through his head, there was movement on his chest.   
  
Sara had shifted her head up to look at him, and he attempted a smile. She moved her hands again on his sides, unintentionally tickling him. His smile broadened and he twitched slightly. "Sorry," she said, slightly embarrassed, but he shook it off. Then she rested her back down again, her ear to his chest. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, trying to sort out the day's events.   
  
"Grissom?"  
  
"Hmmm?"   
  
"Talk to me."  
  
"What do you want me to say?"  
  
"Anything, just talk to me."  
  
She could tell from his silence that he wasn't sure what to do. Lifting her head slightly she brought her eyes to his. "Tell me about ... the most beautiful place you've ever been."  
  
He blinked slowly in the firelight and smiled, remembering. "Yosemite, 1967."   
  
Sara scooted up slightly and rested her head on his shoulder. She ran her fingers across his skin again, although this time it wasn't to warm her hands. "Keep going," she breathed against him, feeling his arms tighten around her.   
  
"I was there with my mother, and we had decided to take a guided hike up Sentinel Dome. It was almost dusk and about ten of us met at the base with flashlights. I was so excited. Most of the hike was in the dark, which I later discovered was a good thing, because otherwise we would have seen that one wrong step off the trail was an eight-thousand foot trip to the bottom of the valley."   
  
She felt him shake lightly as he laughed.   
  
"So, we slowly made our way up there, and when we finally got to the top it was ..." his voice drifted off.   
  
Sara shifted her head. "What?"  
  
"Just ... beautiful." He looked at her, and then dropped his head back. "There was a Joshua Pine Tree on the summit, and the moon was starting to come up, it was amazing. All around us the edge of the dome just fell into blackness. And you could see the entire Valley from there. El Capitan, Half Dome, Yosemite Falls, all the big guys. They were all there. El Capitan was a vision - it looked like a solid wall of ice, because the moon was so bright and was shining onto everything. I've just ... never seen anything like it."   
  
"I'd like to see that some day."   
  
"Oh, you have to, it's just gorgeous ..."   
  
It was quiet again as the snow continued to fall against the inky backdrop of night, and the fire crackled and popped as the flames licked another twig.   
  
"Grissom?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Promise me something."  
  
"What?"   
  
"Promise me that this won't turn out like that 'Alive' movie."  
  
Suddenly, she felt him shaking beneath her, and when she picked her head up she realized he was laughing.   
  
She pursed her lips. "I'm serious!"   
  
He tried to smother the laugh, but it only made things worse, especially when she poked him in the ribs. Raising herself up on her elbows, she glared down at him in mock anger.  
  
"Okay, okay," he finally gave in and stopped laughing. "I promise."  
  
Finally, her pretend anger gave way to a smile, and there was suddenly a look in her eyes he couldn't read. He felt her hands against his sides as she leaned forward, lightly pressing her lips to his. The kiss was more comforting than erotic, but he still enjoyed the softness and warmth of her lips.   
  
She finally pulled back. "Thank you," she whispered, and she settled back down onto his chest. His hands found their way to her back again, and he pulled her against him.   
  
Her soft breathing was the last thing he remembered before falling asleep.   
  
Grissom woke to the blue haze of dawn, the blurry outlines of trees and rocks. Where...? Oh, yeah. He took in a deep breath of cold air, and then observed that the snow had stopped, and the wind had ebbed to a gentle breeze. The fire, amazingly, was still alive, the embers glowing red under the pile of burnt wood. He blinked and sighed, gazing out into the morning light. When he turned his head to the other side he suddenly stopped, and just ... stared.   
  
During the night, Sara had somehow scooted up and fallen asleep with her head right next to his, facing him. He watched her as she slept, the peacefulness on her face as she slowly breathed in and out, and glanced quickly at her lips. He tried to stretch his legs, but they'd become tangled in hers and he didn't want to risk touching her gash. He resisted the other urges that were niggling at his mind, and settled for rewrapping his arms around the soft skin of her back.  
  
When she started to stir he waited for her eyes to open, but she wasn't awake just yet. Instead, she wrapped one arm around his neck and nuzzled her face closer to his until their lips were nearly touching. Her other hand reached farther under his shirt, and he had to bite his lip to keep from verbalizing the sensation. Alright. They could stay like this for just a bit longer.   
  
Eventually, his eyelids started to droop, and he fell back asleep.   
  
Sara woke against something very warm. Her leg ached, but that thought was chased from her mind when she opened her eyes and found herself literally face to face with a sleeping Grissom. She wiggled her fingers and felt his skin on one side and curls on the other. One hand moved up to squeeze more hair at the base of his head, while the other gently stroked the skin near his ribs. When she licked her lips she lightly brushed against his, and had to struggle not to act on the electrical tingling that suddenly shot through her.   
  
His eyes finally opened again, and he was a little startled to see her reciprocating the gaze. How long had she been awake?   
  
She finally spoke. "Hey."  
  
He blinked and took in a deep breath through his nose. "Hey. How are you feeling?"   
  
She smirked and shrugged, and then opened her mouth to say something. Her own stomach interrupted her, as it audibly begged for fuel with a loud gurgle. They both laughed.   
  
"Well," Sara smiled. "I'm hungry. And I have to pee."  
  
He blinked. "Thanks for letting me know." As much as he had enjoyed the intimacy and warmth of the previous night, certain parts of him were starting to fall asleep, and he needed to stand up straight. He shifted beneath her.   
  
They both looked down at their bodies in the bag, and then back at each other.   
  
"So...how should we..." Sara started.  
  
"Um. Let me get out first, then I'll help you." Sara nodded at his suggestion, and held onto him as they both rolled onto their sides. He wiggled against her as he slowly made his way out of the bag, and she missed his warmth the second his body left hers.  
  
Grissom stepped out of the bag with a groan, and his back cracked in several spots as he stretched. It wasn't nearly as cold out as the night before, and the sun had started to warm the air enough to melt some of the icicles clinging to the shale above them.   
  
Sara started to squirm out of the bag, but Grissom laid a hand on her shoulder. "Stay in there until I get back." When she looked at him questioningly, he continued, rolling his eyes. "I have to pee, too." She grinned and laid back into the warmth of the bag, listening to the snow crunch under his feet as he made his way to the other side of the rocks.   
  
He returned a short time later, and knelt down to help her out of the bag. She slung an arm over his shoulder to prop herself up, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. He raised his eyebrows. "Ready?" She nodded, and he helped her walk out from under the shelter.   
  
"I found a nice tree over there," he pointed, guiding her slowly over the breaking crust of snow to a nearby pine. Sara braced herself against the bark and unhooked her arm from his neck. With one thumb, she undid the top of her pants, and then realized he was still standing there. "I think I can take it from here, Grissom."  
  
A light shade of crimson blushed his cheeks, and he looked down at his feet. "Right. Well," he gestured awkwardly, "Let me know when you're ... um ... done."   
  
She nodded, trying to get him to leave. "Okay. I will." He took one last look at her and then turned his back.   
  
About twenty steps away he stopped and shoved his hands in his pockets, surveying the whiteness in front of him. He stood in a large clearing, sharing the space with what was left of the Cessna and the circular shelter of rocks. Beyond the clearing on all sides stood a thick wall of forest. The land sloped up behind the rocks, eventually coming to a dramatic apex at a jagged peak that slinked toward the sky like a long, slender finger. The blanket of snowfall had stilled the air, and silence was somewhat comforting.   
  
Well, he sighed, if they weren't stuck out here without enough food, clothing and shelter, it might actually be a really beautiful sight.  
  
"Grissom!"  
  
His shoes squeaked as he swiveled in the snow to see Sara leaning against the tree, gesturing to him. The snow crunched as he half-jogged over to her, and they hobbled back to the rock shelter.   
  
She leaned against the shale overhang as he proceeded to pull a few blankets out of the space bag. He got back to his feet and helped her sit down on the outside of the bag. After she got settled, he sat down next to her, and then draped the blankets over both of them. She looked over at him and managed a tired smile.   
  
"Oh, wait, I almost forgot." He reached out behind him and stuck his tongue out as he searched, and then smiled when he found the survival kit. Bringing it around in front of them he flipped it open and pulled out one of the Powerbars. Sara's jaw dropped.   
  
Grissom ripped the package open with his teeth, and then broke off a large, frozen chunk, handing it to Sara. "I guess if you suck on it long enough it'll get soft."  
  
"So I've heard."   
  
He raised an eyebrow, and she just shrugged innocently, popping the food into her mouth. As she slowly worked the piece of Powerbar with her tongue, he broke off a piece for himself.   
  
Grissom looked down at her leg. "I should rewrap that." She nodded, hesitantly, and he moved out from under the blankets to kneel in front of her. Slowly, the bandage came off, and Grissom peered at the wound. Sara didn't like the face he made, and he must have sensed her fear because he looked up. "It's ... it's a little infected. I'll try to clean it." She nodded, but knew he wasn't telling her everything. For once, that was okay; infection was bad enough.   
  
He carefully poured more antiseptic over the cut, and her leg instantly tightened and her eyes shut. She cursed under her breath and resisted the urge to shove Grissom down the slope behind him.   
  
With a sterile pad he gently wiped as much of the gash as he could, noticing then how deep it went. He kept the discovery to himself. The kit snapped open and another bandage came out. Last one. Again, she winced as he wrapped her leg, but she just bit her lip and tried to think of something, anything else but the throbbing and stinging.   
  
When he was done he climbed back under the blankets, and felt her huddle closer to him, head on his shoulder.  
  
"I'm cold," she offered, but he didn't seem to mind.  
  
Grissom rewrapped them in the blankets as he encircled his arms around Sara, and then leaned back onto the wall of rocks, stared out into the clearing. He took a deep breath, thinking.  
  
She heard him mumble something, over and over. Numbers? Letters? She turned her head so she could look at him.   
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
He looked down at her. "45 North, 117 West." She looked puzzled. "45 North, 117 West: our last known coordinates."   
  
She shuddered and tightened her hold on him. It was something else besides the reality of the crash; she was starting to feel strange. Chilly, yet hot, and achy. Her leg continued to throb.   
  
"I think that puts us somewhere near the border of Idaho and Oregon. Bitterroot Mountains. Craters of the Moon Monument... I think those are all in Idaho, but we're probably West of them."   
  
Sara shook again, this time scaring herself at the severity of the convulsion. She kept talking, trying to cover up the new onset of symptoms. "So... does that help us at all? I mean, we - well, *I* can't walk out of here, it's too far."  
  
"It's too far for either of us, Sara. But everyone in Seattle will be wondering what happened to us, and the plane was a commercial flight. I'm sure they noticed when we didn't arrive last night."   
  
"Let's hope so." Another shudder ripped through her body.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"Yes?" she said, her voice cracking.  
  
"That's the third time you've shook like that in the last five minutes." When she didn't answer right away, he looked down. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and one hand had a tight grip on his collar. Sweat had started to bead across her forehead.   
  
Grissom felt her skin; it was far too hot for the weather outside. Damn. The infection had given her a fever, and next might be shock ... or worse. No. Think constructive.   
  
"You need to get warm." He started to reach for the space bag.  
  
She buried her head into him. "No, Grissom, please just let me sleep. I'm fine."   
  
"God, you're stubborn."  
  
"I'm fine," she whined.  
  
He sighed. "Your leg's infected, and you're getting a fever. Now get into the bag."  
  
Despite the cloud cover slowly creeping over her mind, she was taken aback by his gruffness, and knew it must be serious. Trust him. Listen. Trust. Cold. Very cold. Something was shaking her, and it wasn't the fever.   
  
Grissom gripped her arms. "Sara!" She finally blinked her eyes open. "Listen to me. Stay awake." She started to slip back into blackness, and he pulled her back up to sitting. "Stay awake, Sara, can you hear me?" Somewhere in the murky confines of her thoughts she did hear him, and managed a nod.   
  
He leaned her carefully against the wall, and then hurriedly piled the blankets back into the space bag, as he'd done the night before. When he peeled her off the wall she fell limply into his arms, her head falling back behind her. He scooped an arm under her neck and brought her head up straight. That woke her up, and she blinked rapidly, trying to gain some bearing on what was happening.   
  
He guided her feet into the bag, and helped her slide in up to her neck. Waking her once more, he glanced around, searching, searching... The tree. Branches. Wood. Fire. Go.  
  
"Sara, I'll be right back." She moved her head slightly to acknowledge him, and saw his blurry figure run off behind the rocks.   
  
Sara stood in a sprawling valley of yellow flowers. Huge glacial mountains stretched up and out from both sides of the field, and the sky was so blue it nearly pained her to look at it. Montana. 1979. She spun, the world a blur of yellow, blue and rock, and then stopped, gazing up the hill behind where she stood. A tall, dark-haired man smiled at her. She noticed his hands. Strong and slender. Tan, with white nails. They waved. Dad. It's been too long. She ran up the hill and threw herself at him, her head coming up to the bottom of his chest. Her arms wrapped around as far as they could reach and squeezed. One of his hands held the back of her head, and the other rubbed her back. Old Spice. Shaving cream. Soap. He stepped away and she tried to hold onto one of those hands. But he just kept walking, and she couldn't move toward him. The sun blinded her, and she could barely make out his form, getting smaller and smaller, until he disappeared completely. Everything was suddenly very warm. Her face felt hot. And there was a flash, a flickering.   
  
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw flames. And then the outline of Grissom's shape, tending to the fire. Fuck. They were still here. And it was dusk again, somehow. As she shuddered again she remembered that something was really, really wrong. Right -- her.   
  
She felt something against her. Warmth. Something solid. It lifted her, and then she was on her stomach, laying on the warmth. More heat wrapped around her, and she felt flesh touching her own. On her stomach. On her cheeks. She was so tired, and the flames were hypnotic. She continued to tremble as the dark consumed her again.  
  
The position was familiar, but the circumstances weren't nearly as pleasant. He could feel the fever spreading as the furnace of her bare skin quickly warmed his. Just keep her warm; the fever will break. They'll get here soon. They have to. He held her closer as another series of tremors ripped through her.   
  
He didn't want to fall asleep, but his brain had other plans. What woke him was Sara's voice. It was barely discernable as English, but she was saying something. He brushed a hair off her sweaty forehead. "What?" he asked quietly, but she only muttered a response. It appeared she was dreaming, but she may have been half awake; he couldn't tell. Her mouth fell open and she gasped a word, but he couldn't make it out. "Sara?" He knew she wouldn't answer, but he was hoping she could hear him, wherever she was.  
  
The Montana valley was even more beautiful, and this time her hands felt rock beneath her. She was perched on the edge of one of the taller peaks, looking out over the lush green and yellow of the meadow below. She squinted at the sky, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes. The air was so crisp it almost hurt to breathe, but she still inhaled deeply, her lungs filling with purity and coolness. Somewhere an eagle cried out, and a wolf howled, searching for its pack.   
  
She stood, precariously leaning out to look over the edge of the cliff. The jagged rock fell off at such a sharp angle it was hard to see much of anything. A gust of wind pushed at her back, nearly throwing her off the edge. Her arms flailed, trying to get her balance, and her heart suddenly contracted, painfully shooting adrenaline through her veins with lightning speed. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. She was going to fall - and there was nothing she could do about it.   
  
And as quickly as she had panicked, her body relaxed. She closed her eyes, and felt the gentle force of gravity take control. As her feet left the rock, an awe-inspiring sense of understanding coursed through her. It wasn't specific concepts or ideas, just the sensation of somehow finally knowing the answer to every question she had ever asked in her whole life. There was no fear or worry, and no tears. In a few moments: peacefulness. Serenity.   
  
And then, abruptly, she wasn't falling. Something was tugging on her hand, fighting the gravity that was now becoming harder to resist. The reality of her inherent death flooded through her mind, and all the fear returned at once. She cried out, and the tug yanked her back to standing on both feet. There was someone there, whoever had stopped her. She spun around.   
  
"Grissom!"  
  
His eyes shot open when she shouted his name, and he pulled back another hair to reveal her eyes, squeezed shut. "I'm here..." he reassured her. But she was silent again. Had she been dreaming? He wondered, briefly, if it had been about him.  
  
He gazed from her face out into the twilight. The stars shimmered in the clear sky, and he couldn't remember the last time he had actually gazed up there, just for no reason. Everything he did related to work in some way, even if it involved other people he knew. Even this case. Especially this case. And now it had caught up with him, and it might cost him everything.  
  
Sara had stopped shaking, and he brushed back her hair. She was completely unconscious, with her head slumped onto his chest. Oh God, no, please. "Sara?" He touched her again with no response. Panic took hold, and he desperately searched the darkness around them.   
  
A light off in the distance caught his eye, and then vanished. A shooting star? No, too close to the horizon. There it was again, somewhere out in the woods. His heart thumped with a strange mixture of fright and excitement. And then he heard it ... shouting? More lights started to appear, and they were getting progressively closer. The light of dusk made it increasingly difficult to see distance and detail, but there was a definite group of lights now, moving like illuminated ants on a black background. The shouting got louder; they must have seen the fire.   
  
Within moments he could make out actual words. Sounded like a megaphone. "This is search and rescue. Shout if you can hear me."   
  
Grissom closed his eyes, thanking no one in particular. And then he started to sit up, directing all his energy to his lungs. "I hear you! I've got an injured woman here!"  
  
He heard rapid crunching in the snow - running.   
  
Grissom rolled Sara off to the side and scrambled out of the bag. His unbuttoned shirt flew open as the cold hit him, and he absently fastened a few holes at the bottom as the first man approached him. The adrenaline took over, and he was suddenly at work.   
  
"Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab." The man nodded and then immediately wrapped a blanket around him. Grissom pointed to the space bag. "She's lost a lot of blood, and I think she's in shock."   
  
"Are there any other survivors, Mr. Grissom?" After Grissom shook his head, the man nodded, and pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt. "Yeah, this is Keller. We've got two survivors, one injured. Yeah. The clearing just North of Butler Pass. Right. 10-4." He turned to Grissom. "We've got a chopper flying in, sir; we're going to get you out of here."   
  
Grissom saw three more men pull Sara out of the bag and onto a small gurney. He tried to help them, but was pushed away. His protests were drowned out by the sudden sound of a helicopter flying in close proximity.   
  
Grissom watched them hand off Sara to the chopper's crew, and then his knees finally gave way, and he collapsed on the snow, exhausted.  
  
**  
  
It was good to get back to the lab again, back to some kind of normalcy, a routine. Grissom slowly walked around his office, mentally reassuring himself that nothing had been touched, or moved. He flopped into his chair and swung from side to side, just ... surveying his space.   
  
He found his mind drifting throughout the day, thinking about the crash. The cold. Sara. He hadn't seen her since the hospital, and couldn't bring himself to visit her at home. Maybe distance was the best thing until they could get the trauma out of their systems.   
  
The magnified hairs stared back at him, and he lost himself in the luminous shafts, the pigment, their linear, flawless beauty. He didn't even know why he was looking at them. A case? God, he didn't even know anymore. He sat down on a stool and put his head in his hands. Three days. Three days it had been like this, and he still couldn't think straight. Couldn't get his thoughts in any kind of order. He needed to see her. Someone who would understand.   
  
On the fourth day, he thought he saw her peering into a microscope, but that was nothing new. He'd seen her everywhere since the crash. At first he dismissed this latest bogus sighting as another attempt by his mind to get him excited about just ... something. But he stopped, and looked. The image didn't change; it actually was her. He watched as she floated to the other side of the room, collected another slide, and then glided back to the microscope again. Somehow, his feet carried him through the doorway, but that's as far as they would go.   
  
Sara sensed him, and looked up. A hint of a smile was all she could give him; he couldn't even give that, and just stared. What had happened on that mountain changed everything. How, he didn't know, but it was just ... different.   
  
He stood behind her, checking the case file on the table, looking around at the other evidence spread over the surface. And then his eyes fell to her hair, to the strands floating above her skin like a feather caught on a thermal of air. She continued to examine her slide, trying to ignore his presence and what it did to her.   
  
He wanted to touch her again. He lifted his hand to the back of her head, and then stopped himself just shy of the soft tresses. His fingers hesitated, and then retreated, folding into the palm of his hand, and his arm fell back to his side. Something was different. Things had changed. He didn't know what to do anymore.   
  
He backed away, slowly, and walked out the door, her scent lingering on his clothes. She turned her head to watch him leave, but he was already gone.   
  
TBC? 


End file.
